The full story
I grew up on a farm in Franklin Grove, Illinois. My mother died when I was two. My father was hard, and for a long time the family did not want me.
After the divorce I was in a dark place. I did not see a reason to stay. What brought me back was not a plan. It was the fact that I was still here.
I made a sign that said good day to be alive and hung it at the foot of my bed. When I woke, it was the first thought. Not because the day was easy. Because I was conscious, and I was not dead to the idea that I could be happy.
My brain kept handing me reasons it was not a good day. Shame. Guilt. Remorse. Should-haves. Would-haves. Why didn’t I. Why did this happen. All of it.
The line was the way back. Step behind all of what the brain said and just be here now. That is what freed me.
That sentence became the practice. Wake. Return through the day. Reflect at night. And always help someone else without expectation.
Good Day To Be Alive is that practice, written down so someone else can use it.